by Trent Falls
The arena itself had very high ceilings, typical of a large arena. Long sloped glass framed the outer band of the roof in a wide horseshoe, allowing a good portion of the night sky to be visible overhead. The flashes of lighting and the brewing storm outside added to the incredible mood of the concert. It was magic!
As the singer announced the next song, Julie turned around to look at Dan. Dan, holding her close, gave her an affectionate smile back. He kissed her full on the lips.
“Thank you!” he could read her soft lips but could barely hear her voiceover the crow.
The audience went mad again as the guitars played the opening of the next song, a popular single called “Nothing To Me.”
Dan and Julie’s seats weren’t great but they could see the stage fairly well. They were in the upper deck, with a clear view down to stage right. Kaitlyn and her boyfriend were right next to them. Kaitlyn was jumping and dancing happily to the music.
Far in the back, along the outer band of the seats, a pair of husky men in security guard attire moved along the upper deck promenade. People hurried to and from their seats around them. One girl angrily stormed away from her boyfriend and past the burly guards. The two security guards might have been off-duty police officers.
These two were not. One raised a hand to cover the ear bud in his left ear. They were the same ear bud comlinks the regular guards used, only theirs were tuned into a different frequency.
Phaedra. A dry desolate planet. Much of it looked like the more arid and sparsely vegetated areas of Arizona.
A Xen WT-90 Scorpion battle tank moved on its four massive legs. It rumbled over the remains of an EEF Marine Kestrel it had managed to down with its missile pod launchers. The EEF Marines shot back up at the Scorpion futilely. Their high-velocity assault rifle rounds popped and sparked off the thick steel and composite plating of the walking tank.
Another mini-missile round screamed up from John’s M-550 launcher slung under his M-10 rifle. The small missile, really an overpowered bottle rocket with a grenade warhead, exploded over the beasts forward left leg joint. The blast did nothing to slow the beast.
Owens was finally able to grab the RM-20 he had been reaching for inside the Kestrel. The tubular device widened as he placed it on his shoulder, then extended a thick tube extension forward and back of the central part of the weapon. It elongated into a proper bazooka. The missile inside was a more powerful anti-tank weapon. Owens turned the weapon towards the Scorpion and locked in.
The Scorpion itself had opened fire with its arm-mounted 20mm cannons. The cannons started to chew through the Kestrel armor.
Owens pulled the trigger of the RM-20. The missile inside the launcher was pushed forward, aided by an internal rail gun frame to shoot out at incredible speed.
The Scorpion was struck on its left gun pod with a massive blast. The walking tank reeled.
“Take that, fucker!!!” Owens threw aside the one-shot launcher and reached back for his own M-10 rifle slung back over his shoulder.
The Marine’s held their rifle fire on the beast. Each man hoped to score a lucky shot but even the RM-20’s missile wouldn’t stop the walking tank. They all knew they were done for. It was only a matter of time.
“Fire Team Tango. Be advised. Fast-movers inbound.” The much-welcomed voice of an EEF controller spoke over the Marines’ helmet coms.
“Fuck yeah!” Euler pulled his upper body back behind the Kestrel wreck for cover.
“Tango Squad. Advise you keep your heads down! You are danger close!” the cool collected voice of what was likely an EEF pilot added.
Two silvery white forms rocketed by in the sky overhead. The roar of their jet engines filled the sky for a second. A half-second after, a tight cluster of four bomb blasts ripped into their ears.
“AHH!” Euler yelled as he and his men got as close to the ground as possible, covering the tops of their helmets with their hands as well.
The heat was intense! It was as though their exposed skin was far, far too close to an open barbeque grill. The heat persisted, prompting some of the men to move away.
“Ah! Fuck! FUCK!” Owens yelled out from somewhere.
The Scorpion was hit on its left side from four incendiary bombs dropped from the pair of S7 starfighters. The S7’s were, by that point, climbing away far in the distant sky. The Scorpion wobbled for a moment then finally toppled over on its right side; its final death throe an earthquaking crash. The dust hung in the air, obscuring everything for another tense few seconds.
Then, finally quiet.
“Tango Squad! Sound off!!” Euler commanded.
“Bell!” PFC Max Bell yelled back through the smoke.
“Troy!”
“Carn!”
“Owens!”
No other names were called out. Euler waited for a moment.
“McCoy! Sound off!” Euler demanded.
Nothing.
“Bascom! Sound off!” Sgt. Euler called out again.
No response from Bascom.
“Sir. Troy came walking out through the thinning smoke. Troy pointed to something on the other side of Euler.
Euler turned to see the body of… someone… in EEF Marine fatigues on the ground. Euler walked over to the body to see that the entire right side was shredded and bloody. The 20mm cannon fire had ripped the right side of someone nearly off. Euler leaned down over the body, trying to find what might be dog tags around what might have been the Marine’s neck. Failing to find any and not wanting to dig through blood and ripped flesh, Euler pulled out a hand-scanner from his pouch and ran it over the right boot of the late Marine. An RFID chip in the boot identified its owner.
Bascom
Vincent J. Type: O Pos
1277-455-9989
EEF USMC, Medium
Presbyterian
“Bascom.” Euler breathed heavily. He tagged the ID on his reader as ‘Deceased – Confirmed.’
“McCoy’s dead too.” Owens appeared from behind, gesturing towards Bascom’s remains. “Same way.”
“Fuck.” Troy exhaled. Five men – that’s all that remained of his formerly 12 man Squad. Five men and one copilot.
There was a metallic creak, followed by a hiss of compressed air. The surviving Marines turned their weapons around quickly towards the source of the sound. They held their aim but were a bit more relaxed to see it was the head of the downed Scorpion.
The head of the walking tank lay on its side in the dirt. The rest of the metal body, a mangled wreck behind the cockpit, continued to burn. The Xen pilot writhed in his chair. He was in obvious pain and couldn’t get out of the seat of the cockpit. The Xen tank pilot produced a knife and was trying to cut his seat restraints off.
Euler set down his M-10. His face was cold and fixed. The sergeant stood up and pulled his GX9 pistol from his side holster. He cocked the slide, ejecting a round while making sure one was also chambered. Euler walked up in a quick stride towards the side of the downed Scorpion.
The men in Euler’s squad knew what he was doing before he did it. It was terrible to watch but no one would stop him; even John.
Euler walked up to the side of the open Scorpion cockpit. The Xen pilot seemed to think he was about to be taken prisoner for half a second.
Euler raised the pistol up to the Xen pilot’s head and pulled the trigger. The gun cracked. Crimson shot out from the side of the Xen’s head before he fell lifelessly into the seat. The round casing pinged off a rock in the dirt. Euler marched back towards his compatriots in a hurried, angry step.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He grumbled at them all indirectly as he walked by.
The shot echoed in John’s head, as though Euler had fired the bullet into his own skull. He could see the Xen pilot’s last expression; disbelief mixed with a half second of apoplexy.
John’s eyes opened to a black room. There was a flash of light and a deep rumbling. John had fallen asleep on the couch. He had zoned out and fallen out into sleep, into the n
ightmare world of his memories that was often there to greet him. The holo-projector in his coffee table was turned off. He had sworn he had turned it on to watch the game.
The rumbling was from a thunder storm brewing outside. Florida thunderstorms had a habit of coming in late in the afternoon, but this storm was late arriving. The blue LCD lights of the nearby wall clock read 10:12.
John took a deep breath, grateful to be back in the real world even if it was dark. He waited for a while before turning on the lights. After getting his mind back in order, John reached for the square house remote. He keyed in the lights setting and pushed the touch-screen scroll bar up halfway. The lights in the house came up to about 50% luminosity.
A red light flashed on the surface of the table. It was the house VOIP. He had one voicemail. John tapped one of the interface buttons on the table to replay the message.
“Sergeant Carn.” Euler’s familiar voice spoke aloud from the speakers in the living room. “I’m sorry we have to get reacquainted like this after all these years but you have to understand I’m a man in some need.”
Scott Euler?!? John was stunned and scared at the same time.
“One of my men asked you nicely to come with us but I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer. I have your daughter. I assure you she’s safe and will be treated with white gloves. Follow my instructions and you will see your daughter again before you know it.”
John’s terror swelled rapidly.
“More information will follow…”
A white service van hurried towards Palm Beach International Spaceport. It wasn’t a huge spaceport. It still carried a considerable amount of air traffic. Space traffic came in from over the ocean regardless of wind direction. Standard air traffic approached from a northern vector. Space traffic was often limited to light freighters, with heavy transports flying out of Homestead or Melbourne.
At night, the tarmac and all service areas were lit in crisp amber light. The passenger side wheels dipped sharply into an unexpected pothole, splashing rain water out from the sides of the van. The van headed west on Southern Boulevard, turning left on an access road towards the spaceport side of the air fields. Several loader robots were pulling cargo pods off a chain of cargo trolleys and placing them inside a cargo shuttle. Beyond the space freight area, a large SpaceX liner was connected via jetway to allow regular passengers to board.
The van turned left at a break in the fence and pulled up to a security checkpoint.
“Hi. ID’s?” the private security guard walked up to the open driver side window.
A muscular man in his early twenties was driving. He handed the guard his universal ID card. The guard swiped the card on a hand-held reader, which displayed info on a small screen on the device.
“Parts delivery, huh.” The guard breathed, handing the driver back his ID. “FedEx is about a quarter mile ahead, then turn right. You can’t miss them.” The guard stated the obvious.
“Thanks.” The driver smiled back. “Have a good one.”
“You too.” The guard waved.
The van pulled forward over the rain slick cement. Unseen to the guard, there were three more well-conditioned men in the back of the van. All of them were armed with pistols. At the very back of the van was a very scared eighteen year-old girl wearing black leggings and a light blue dress. A strip of silver duct tape covered her mouth. Dried tears had streaked down her cheeks. She glared up at one of the men in the back sitting near her as the van moved on.
The white van didn’t go to the FedEx maintenance hangar. It instead went on towards a section of the airfield reserved for smaller private space shuttles.
Most commercial space transports followed the same layout as many standard military cargo transports. Many had a long boarding ramp extended down from their aft sections, allowing cargo pallets to be easily loaded, as on an old Army C-130. The van rolled carefully through the rows of large cargo transports, finally stopping at the open rear ramp of an old white shuttle. The shuttle was a smaller light transport, typically used to carry small loads to and from the Moon, Mars, Jupiter, or Saturn. The vehicle did, however, have a warp drive unit. The shuttle resembled an old fashioned design, with a white hull and black heat shield on a husky airframe. The main engines on this cargo transport, however, were split by the central fuselage, again allowing for a broad rear loading ramp.
Andrew Rochette, in jeans, a t-shirt, and a windbreaker, stood at the bottom of the shuttle’s loading ramp. He had been waiting. The ship behind him was ready to go. The rows of bright fluorescent lights inside the cargo area lit Rochette eerily from behind.
The driver got out of the van quickly and moved towards the back of the vehicle, quickly opening the doors. Julie Stevens was hauled out of the back by two of the other thugs. She tried to drag her feet but one of the mercs pulled her up painfully by her upper right arm. Feeling that her arm might be broken, she opted to use her own feet to walk.
“Easy.” Rochette stated. “I want you guys to be kind to our guest.”
Julie was brought to stand before the former Navy Master Chief. He stared back at Julie, who was glaring back at him.
“You know,” Rochette spoke to her directly, “your uncle didn’t teach you well. The first rule for someone being held hostage is to never look your captor in the eye. It makes you appear confrontational.”
Julie didn’t seem to care. She continued glaring at him.
“This doesn’t come off until we’re up.” Rochette tapped on the duct tape covering her mouth. “Behave yourself and this will all go smoothly. You’ll have the most amazing story to tell your grandchildren.”
With that said, Rochette gestured with a turn of his head towards the shuttle’s cargo ramp. Julie squealed, kicking her legs frantically as she was hauled towards the shuttle ramp. She seemed to realize again that this was all real; that she was being taken away from her uncle and off-world.
“She give you any trouble?” Rochette asked Roberts, the driver.
“Jones and Watts ran into some special security detail. Possibly ESF agents.”
“And?” Rochette demanded.
“We took them out quietly. Dumb bastards are nowhere near as good as people think. Other than that it went okay. We had to taze the boyfriend but that was no problem.” Roberts answered. “She was at a rock concert. We just pulled her and her boyfriend out of the crowd.”
“Anyone get you on camera?” Rochette asked.
“I don’t think so.” Roberts answered.
“It doesn’t matter.” Rochette noted. “We’ll be out of here in a few minutes anyway. Shuttle’s ready to go. You got all your gear?”
“Yes sir.” Roberts grinned.
“Good. Then let’s get the hell outta here!”
“I have your daughter.”
The words echoed again and again in John’s ears. He was stunned, unable to move where he had fallen to his knees in the middle of the living room. His mind raced. What to do?!? They got Jules!!! He’d KILL them!!!
“I have your daughter.”
She wasn’t really his daughter, but John couldn’t imagine a real parent being more afraid. In all his time in the military, he was never as afraid as he was in that moment. She was at the concert.
John jumped up and ran to get his phone. He found Jules’ number in his recent calls and hit ‘dial’. The phone rang. It went right to her voicemail.
DAN! The boyfriend. He called his phone number. After two rings a voice answered.
“This is Dan.” A weak voice replied.
“Dan! This is John Carn. Julie’s uncle. Is Julie with you?” John’s voice was hurried and nervous.
“No, um…. No sir.” Dan sounded hesitant. It sounded like he was hurt. “There’s been an… um, incident.”
John’s heart sank. He could hear voices in the background, some asking questions in an authoritative manner.
“I’m at my house. The police are here. They haven’t called you?” Dan asked weakly.
“No, Dan! No one’s called me!” John was loud; very upset.
“I’m sorry sir! I’m really sorry! They grabbed her before I could do anything.”
Jesus, kid, you didn’t stand a chance, John thought to himself.
“The police are here. They want to talk to you.” Dan asked.
“Who took her, Dan?!? Who?!?” John demanded.
“Three guys. Big. In shape like you.” Dan answered.
“Who’s that?” a voice in the background on Dan’s end asked.
“Mister Carn. Julie’s uncle.” Dan answered away from the phone’s microphone.
“Jesus! Let me talk to him!” the voice said. The man’s voice became clearer after being given Dan’s phone. “Mister Carn.”
“Yes.” John replied.
“I’m very sorry no one has contacted you yet, sir.” The man’s voice noted professionally. “My name is Detective Larry Clayton, Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office. Your daughter….”
“Niece!” John corrected him, wondering a half-second later why it even mattered.
“Your niece seems to have been abducted by two or three men following the Intergy concert at the Palm Beach Arena.” Clayton continued. “We’re following up every lead we can at the moment, I assure you. Have you been contacted by anyone about this?”
“No.” John lied. He didn’t trust the cops either; not yet anyway.
“Are you at home? We’re sending a unit over now.” Clayton added.
“Yes, I’m home.” John answered shakily.
“We’ll be there soon, Mister Carn.” Clayton stated.
The line cut off. John was left with his head spinning. It hadn’t been long since he had gotten the message from Euler.
Euler! The message. What would he do if Euler called? If he found out the police knew about the kidnapping? Troy’s men were supposed to be watching her.
Troy!!!
John tapped the touchscreen of his PDA phone and found Troy’s number.
David Troy was asleep in bed. He had rented a condo in Boca Raton near the beach. In bed next to him was a lovely tanned woman. He had picked her up earlier that night at a nearby club. The condo was elegant and had been furnished. He was able to leave the French doors to his balcony open, allowing the sea breeze in to cool him and his new lady friend.
